


Second Morning of Thousands

by yikesola



Series: giving the people what they want [4]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesola/pseuds/yikesola
Summary: Dan could get used to this. Everything still feels so gloriously, horribly, beautifully, terrifyingly new. And yet… well, this is the second time he’s waking up in Phil’s bed. Which means it’s a little less new than yesterday. He feels a little less wobbly. A little more assured.A fic about newness and second times.





	Second Morning of Thousands

Dan could get used to this… used to the soft sunshine waking him up, used to opening his eyes to the sight before him, one he’s been waiting for ages to have and one he’s currently experiencing for the second time.

Saturated blue and green pinstriped walls before him, equally bright blue and green duvet wrapped around him. Phil, still snoozing beside him, his fringe pushed off his forehead and his mouth drooped open. The bend of his bird nose is perfect at this angle, and Dan wishes he had any sort of artistic skill so he could sketch it or paint it or something. Hell, he’d even settle for his phone easily in reach so he could take a picture. Instead, he lays still and counts what he can see of Phil’s freckles.

There’s a little glisten of wet drool at the corner of his mouth; Dan wants to reach up and dab it away, but he knows that would wake Phil up.

And he wants a bit more time with this moment.

He’s still not entirely sure it’s real, after all. It could just be the most elaborate dream he’s ever had in his life— one that encompassed waking up two mornings ago to board a train north, and everything that’s happened since. He lowers his gaze to Phil’s bare chest so as to get a good look at some tangible proof of that _everything_.

He risks waking Phil for the satisfaction of tracing his fingers along some of that proof, the light bruises he’d sucked onto that pale, freckled skin. He’s greedy, since this is still all so new. Phil’s right here, not on the other side of a screen, hours and hours away. He’s gotta touch while he can.

The bruises seem a perfect representation, he thinks, for how he’s felt since he kissed Phil two days ago on the Manchester Eye— simultaneously bold and timid, brave and tentative.

Everything still feels so gloriously, horribly, beautifully, terrifyingly new.

And yet… well, this is the second time he’s waking up in Phil’s bed. Which means it’s a little less new than yesterday. He feels a little less wobbly. A little more assured.

When he leans over to kiss Phil, there’s still that thrill that comes from being so close to the person he’s been thinking about nonstop for ages, but that fear that he’ll be pushed away and called a freak for thinking Phil could care about him isn’t there anymore. And unlike yesterday, that feeling that this is all an elaborate dream slips away as Phil slowly wakes and kisses him back. This is quite real.

Even the unbeautiful parts. Dan’s keenly aware of his own morning breath, and Phil’s as well, but he’s not bothered enough by it to hold back from deepening the kiss and nipping at Phil’s full bottom lip and running his tongue along where he’d nipped. Phil pulls back and sits up halfway, squinting at him like a mole because he can’t see a thing without his glasses. Dan’s hair is wild and half-curled and he doesn’t even want to think about what a mess he must look like because it’ll only lead to a spiral about what Phil could possibly see in him.

Besides, once Phil finally dons his glasses and gets a good look at Dan, he seems satisfied with what he sees. Dan decides to take his beaming smile and crinkled eyes as proof enough of that.

“Morning, you,” he says. Dan leans forward to kiss him again. That spark of bravery is back, the one that lets him override his fear of saying or doing something stupid because he still doesn’t know all the rules about messing around with a guy and how they’re different from all the rules he’s followed up until this week.

Yesterday, he’d been too awed by waking up in Phil’s bed to think of doing anything more than chastely kissing his cheek good morning. Phil had smiled sweetly at that, and later when they’d sat on the sofa downstairs Dan threw chaste gestures out the window by climbing into Phil’s lap and making out with him until they were both breathless.

Today, he’s no less awed but also fueled with a bravery that feels a little unearned… maybe it’s residual chaotic energy from the Q&A video they’d filmed last night, maybe it’s the way Phil’s eyeing his collarbones, maybe it’s the hunger for something a little different from the frenzied make out sessions and urgent handjobs they’ve partaken in the last two times they’ve fallen into this bed.

Dan keeps kissing Phil as he pushes on his shoulder, silently asking him to lie down on his back so that Dan can straddle him. They kick the duvet to the end of the bed. Dan hovers over Phil for a moment, pushing what’s fallen of his fringe back off his forehead into a makeshift quiff.

“You’re leaving today,” Phil says. It’s not a question. It doesn’t need to be. They’re both perfectly aware.

“I am.”

Phil turns his head to the clock on his bedside table. “In five hours.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate it.” Phil bends and bites down on Dan’s collarbone at this, apparently determined to prove just how much he hates it.

“Me too,” Dan says.

“I already love waking up with you here,” Phil drags his fingernails lightly across Dan’s chest. “What the hell am I supposed to do when I wake up tomorrow with an empty bed?”

Dan thinks his cheeks are gonna start aching if he keeps smiling this wide. He’s smiled more in the last three days than he can ever remember smiling before. Surely he must’ve smiled like this at some point in his life, but he can’t think of any other times just now. It’s just a constant smile, because even when they talk about something as sad as his leaving, Phil showing he’s gonna miss him can’t help but make him smile.

“When you figure it out, let me know. I think I’m gonna need tricks of my own as my bed will be just as empty.”

Phil’s hands move to grip Dan’s hips. “It’d better be,” he grins.

And _fuck_ that possessiveness satisfies something deep in the marrow of Dan’s bones. A possessiveness that seems to match his own jealous tendencies, but without the inherent tinge of darkness. That wanting to be wanted. It’s so fucking good, he wants Phil to keep it up. “Oh yeah?” There’s a cheeky grin of false challenge on his face.

Phil makes a sound that’s just this side of a proper growl when he takes one hand off of Dan’s hips to move it to the back of Dan’s head and pull him into a hungry kiss. “Yeah,” he says into Dan’s mouth.

His other hand still at Dan’s hip digs into his skin there, his last three fingers skimming along the hem of Dan’s pants. They’re the only clothes he’d bothered to fall asleep wearing. Phil’s state of undress matches his, though while Dan’s pants are black, Phil’s are orange and spotty. Dan lowers his hips against Phil’s without entirely meaning to, but fuck it feels so good he’s not about to be sorry.

Phil kissing him has that same blend of connotations as everything else for these ethereal three days has had— they’ve kissed enough times to already have the hang of it, to already know what little moves and motions, what little bites and breaths work for them. But at the same time, as few as 40 hours ago he’d never kissed Phil in his life. How can he already be so addicted to something he’s only known for so short a time? How can he already be so into something he assumes they’ll only get better and better at?

Dan moves to Phil’s neck, further down to Phil’s chest. He kisses over the light little bruises he’d worked on after being so overwhelmed by _Phil, Phil, Phil_ last night when he’d said earnestly, “This is the most fun I’ve ever had,” and Phil had tackled him to his hideous fluorescent green carpet.

The cluster of Phil’s chest hair drives him mad. The sighs and sharp inhales Phil lets out beneath him makes his brain short circuit.

“Wanna suck you off,” he says.

The whimper that slips out of Phil at that is the single sexiest sound Dan has ever heard. “You don’t have to, Dan.”

“Want to,” Dan says firmly, and sitting up to kiss Phil just as firmly. “Don’t wanna go back home without knowing what you taste like when you come.”

“Jesus Christ,” Phil moans, “Jesus _Christ_ , you’re gonna kill me, Howell…”

“Is that okay?”

“Is that _okay_?” Phil laughs breathlessly, kissing Dan and laughing again. “The hottest fucking guy I’ve known in my entire life wants to give me a morning blowjob and says stupidly hot things like ‘wanna taste you’ and you really think it might not be okay?”

“I wanted to be sure,” Dan says, a little bashful now. But Phil seems to sense his bashfulness; he kisses him again, softer this time— sweeter.

“It’s definitely okay,” Phil tells him, “Oh my God, if you really want to, Dan, it’s so freaking okay.”

Dan moves back to kissing at Phil’s neck and he’s sure Phil can feel the smile in his bites and licks. He’s just... that reassurance means so much. It’s bolstering that bravery he’s still not sure the source of, it lets him take these steps and do these new scary things that he really, _really_ wants to do. It makes them far less scary, knowing this isn’t him trying to prove anything, to himself or to Phil, but that this is just something he wants to do, something he wants to do for Phil, something he wants to do with Phil. He floats on the reassurance and bravery and want as he makes his way down Phil’s chest, down Phil’s ribs, down to Phil’s hips.

He locks onto Phil’s eyes as he bites at the jut of Phil’s hipbone, half covered by the bright orange elastic of his pants. Phil’s wide blue eyes are unblinking, watching each of Dan’s movements as though he were something marvellous.

He’s pulled in by that gaze, and moves up to kiss Phil again without anything resembling finesse. Phil really doesn’t seem to mind, kissing him back just as messily, just as keenly.

Phil’s nails are digging deliciously into all the different parts of Dan’s skin he comes across: the flesh of his hips and the expanse of his back and the round of his shoulders.

Dan’s holding himself up on one arm while the other cannot seem to help itself; it moves down to his pants-covered cock and rubs. He lets out a sharp inhale that is matched by one from Phil, and soon Phil’s hand joins Dan’s to thread their fingers together and to tease Dan’s frustrated dick with a halting rhythm.

Dan arches and manoeuvers until he can get his tongue on Phil’s left nipple. He’s rewarded with a proper moan from Phil that zings down the length of his spine.

The hand that was on his cock moves to Phil’s other nipple, but Phil does not let up on the attention being delivered to Dan below, tracing his fingers along Dan’s length and squeezing insistently on the head when he finds it below a soaked spot on Dan’s pants.

Dan’s head is already so fuzzy from how fucking amazing this all feels, but he’s not lost sight of his intention to taste that bit of Phil he’s not tasted yet, and he travels down Phil’s long body once more to kneel between Phil’s spread legs.

He’s operating on instinct here; he’s just doing what feels right, what feels good. It’s the advice Phil had given him that first night, after they’d made their way to Rawtenstall still high off their kiss on the big wheel— when they’d kissed again in Phil’s bedroom after the obligatory house tour and laid on the sheets Dan knew so well already, when Dan had stuttered his hips against Phil’s and blushed and apologized but had wanted to do it again since it had felt _so fucking good_. When Phil had kissed Dan deeper and said, “Do what feels right, what feels good,” and most of Dan’s residual shame had diffused at that permission.

And he follows it now, mouthing along Phil’s clothed cock and listening to the encouraging sounds Phil gives in response. Phil threads his fingers through Dan’s half-curled fringe, and gives the gentlest sort of tugs. Ones which couldn’t be read as pushy or impatient or _get on with it_ , but rather a reassuring sort of _yes, yes_ and _I’m here_.

“Fuck,” Phil nearly whispers above him.

“Fuck,” Dan repeats, reaching for the hem of Phil’s pants and tugging them down. This is his clearest, most intimate look at Phil’s dick considering he’s leaning down right beside it in the light of mid-morning, unlike the fumbling grasps he’d had the last two nights while mouthing along Phil’s neck or kissing him all the while.

His senses in this moment are almost overwhelmed, between the sweaty smell and the specific taste and the recognition that it looks similar enough to his own and to all the other cocks he’s seen before even if they weren’t in person, but different all the same— he’s just trying to catalogue every second as this seems like something he’ll want to remember later when he’s down south and all alone, but there’s so much, too much to keep track of. So he falls back on doing what feels right, what feels good, licking and sucking and taking Phil down as far as he comfortably can. The groans and whimpers and sighs of his name coming from Phil’s lips tell Dan that he’s doing just fine.

He ruts his hips against Phil’s sheets, unable to resist the chance at some friction, and the action prompts a pleased groan out of him which Phil seems to appreciate. His hands tighten in Dan’s hair and there’s a tensing in the muscles of his thighs.

He’s so into this, so into Phil, so surprised by how much he’s enjoying it. He’d thought that he’d enjoy making Phil feel good, that he’d enjoy making Phil come, but that the act itself would feel something of a chore. An assumption picked up… somewhere. Cultural osmosis from lightweight sitcoms or something. But this wasn’t a chore at all, he finds. No, no, sucking Phil off is an overwhelming assault of taste and sight and scent and sound and he fucking loves it.

It’s real, even the unbeautiful parts— from Phil tugging a little too hard on his hair, to taking him a little too deep for his untested gag reflex a few times, to the taste of his leaking precome being more bitter than Dan had expected. It’s real; he thinks in this moment it might be the most visceral experience of his entire goddamn life.

Dan tilts his gaze upward to find Phil’s eyes already on him, looking at him with such unabashed awe that he moans again around Phil’s cock. That forces Phil’s eyes shut and another shuddering of his hips before he’s warning Dan in a broken voice, “M’close, Dan…” then, “I’m coming, _fuck_ , Dan—” 

He spills into Dan’s mouth and Dan swallows every drop greedily even if it tastes nothing like what he’d have expected. Salty, yes. Bitter, yes. And still unexpected.

But the sensation running through his body, the electricity in his veins at having brought Phil to this point with his mouth is immense. Two more thrusts of his hips against Phil’s bed has him coming as well, and he bites down on Phil’s thigh through it while Phil mutters praise above him.

It’s good, it’s insanely good— it’s the best orgasm he’s had yet in a three-day span greedily filled with plenty of them. It’s just this side of too much, the way Dan’s always liked it. Every one of his senses is screaming with Phil, and it pushed him over the edge in a way that feels so serving and so self-serving. And he’s going to have to spend time overanalysing it all later, he knows it, but for now he’s just swimming in the sensation, in how fucking good all of this feels.

Phil pulls him up for a kiss, though Dan feels boneless and formless and half mad on endorphins. The kiss tastes like their morning, like warm happiness. He laughs when he reaches a hand down towards Dan’s cock to take care of him and finds a wet spot waiting.

“You’re gonna spoil me if I don’t even have to work to get you off,” he grins, carding his fingers through Dan’s sweaty fringe, “and besides, I like working for it.”

“You can work for it all you like next time.”

“Think we’ll manage a ‘next time’ in before you have to leave? If ‘next time’ means ‘Halloween’ I’m gonna lose my mind.” Phil pouts and Dan laughs before moving to kiss that pout away.

“Hmm, actually no, I think I’d rather spend our limited time together four feet apart from here on out,” Dan teases. “It’s not like I’m crazy into you and dreading weeks of only Skype wanks and dirty texts at best or anything.”

“You’re the worst person in the world.” Phil pushes him, flipping their positions. Dan’s vision goes foggy again as Phil hovers above him. “We don’t _have_ to do anything again… just, if you want to…”

Dan leans up to kiss him. “I want to, idiot,” he smiles. “Just, in a bit. After a breather.”

“Obviously, you mad lad. C’mon then,” Phil says, “we still got enough time for a three hour breakfast before packing you up and heading into town.”

Yeah, Dan thinks as he leans forward with a smile on his face to kiss Phil for probably the hundredth time, while visiting him for the first time, after waking up in his bed for the second time— he could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading— come say hi on [tumblr](http://yikesola.tumblr.com/post/184459248199/second-morning-of-thousands) !


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